Rattle the Chains
by ValidDreams
Summary: Marian can do a lot of things. She can pull her family from the smoldering ashes of their life that was and begin anew. She can smuggle and kill for coin to keep them fed. She can challenge the Chantry. But she can't change who she is or what she'll be. Not even for a Prince.
1. Hawke

It was late and hot. The air was thick and sticky and in Lowtown it was sour with the smell of sewer and sea salt. In the narrow alleys, animals could be heard fighting for scraps, outside the Hanged Man whores were soliciting passerby and patrons, and in the very distance over it all were the Chantry bells.

Further down the corridor, a woman slid out of the shadows of an alley and paused for a moment in the empty square shared by the four rundown residences that opened onto it. She was tall and long-limbed with ragged, pitch-colored hair and her long fringe hung haphazardly in her pale eyes. A mabari warhound followed at their heels, an enormous beast with a grey pelt striped in black. It whined plaintively after its lady.

"Nearly there, boy," she mumbled back.

They turned to one of the houses and, with effort and the aid of the animal at her heel, she limped up the stairs to the front door.

"Marian!"

Hawke all-but collapsed into her mother when the woman swept the door open, pulling the handle out from under her hand. Awkwardly, she tried to catch herself against the jamb, but Leandra had already spotted her bloody clothes and had turned back into the house: "Carver! Bethany!"

"Stop that; it's nothing, Mother…"

But the words were useless and in a second her brother had a shoulder under her arm and was all-but carrying her to a seat beside the hearth. "I told you, I should have gone," he grumbled.

"Then who would have protected Bethany and Mother if they had come here? Gamlen?"

"Brutus would have done a fine job."

The Mabari growled softly in reply as he laid down at his master's feet. The argument ended there as Bethany began unlacing her sister's armor and pulling it up over her head. "Are you hurt?" she asked. "Where's the blood coming from?"

Hawke watched her brother undoing the catches of her right vambrace and then lazily looked back at her sister. "Most of it belonged to the templar. Really, I'm fine."

"Then why were you limping? You could barely stand!"

Their mother's voice was shrill with worry and the three siblings cringed in unison. "I swear, I'm fine, Mother," Hawke went on. "He threw me down and there were stairs—I just twisted my ankle I think."

"Your ribs are bruised," Bethany mumbled, having worked her hands up under her sister's shirt already, the glow of her magic muted by the layer of fabric between them.

Carver stood. "Mother, you really should go in to bed—try to get some—"

"Try to shoo me out of the room again and I will take you over my knee, young man," the woman snapped back, drawing herself upright. She looked to the girls by the fire. "What about the templar? What happened?"

Hawke was working her arms out of her sleeves and paused for a moment to look first at her sister. She let out a long breath. "He's dead," she said, at length.

"Oh Maker!" Leandra covered her face and turned away.

"Did anyone see?" Carver demanded. "Does anyone know?"

"A whole crowd! Sold tickets!" Hawke threw her shirt at her brother. Her wraps were clean save for sweat and wear. "Of course no one _saw_! I've been doing this for a while, you nana."

"What did you do with the body?" Bethany asked, her voice low. Her round face, freckled across the bridge of her tiny nose, was furrowed with worry, even though she was clearly trying to hide it.

"I told the Coterie. A few of their men owe me a favor and they'll make a tidy profit on his kit." She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. "It was the safest solution."

Carver was pacing anxiously. He had put out the light nearest the front window and closed the curtains. "They won't tell?" he asked. "If they thought the Knight Commander—"

Hawke waved him off. "Athenril is the only smuggler that hasn't been muscled out by the Carta. They know they owe me that."

"And we're _sure_ he didn't tell anyone?" Leandra demanded. "What if he had already reported Bethany? What if the Gallows already knows?"

"Mother, he was trying to extort us," her eldest answered patiently. "You don't plug a well you still want water from. Reporting Bethany would have just put an end to his own plans and telling another templar would mean having to share the pie and risk getting caught. So for now, we try to lay low. I'll go to the Gallows in the morning and see if there's anything to learn." She forced out a wan, half-smile. "Please, try to get some sleep, Mother. Go on."

The woman sighed and stared at her daughter for a long moment before giving in with a nod. She reached out to touch her son's shoulder as she passed him on her way into the next room and he reached up to lay his hand over hers briefly. Then she closed the door behind her.

Carver pushed himself away from the wall and stood there, listening until he heard the creak of the mattress boards. Then he turned to his older sister. "You're going tonight, aren't you?"

"No. I'll go in the morning and speak to Tobrius. He works with the First Enchanter and sees all the new entries. He'll have recognized Bethany's name if she crossed his desk." She rubbed at her eyes. "You two should get some sleep."

The twins shared a glance between them. "What _are_ you going to do?" Bethany asked.

"I should go see Aveline," she said. "Don't worry about it, Beth."

"I'll go with—"

"I'll be fine."

"Yeah, you said the same thing about the Templar."

* * *

A gentle knock on the wood paneling outside his door roused Varric from his paperwork stupor.

The dwarf had been working later than usual that night, trying to unknot details of a contract dispute with another clan that came down to the wording in the fine print, and his eyes were beginning to cross either from the lack of sleep or from a shot too many. Or both.

And looking up he expected a lot of things. The usual assassination attempt, maybe a Carta thug looking to squeeze him for an early payment, but not the human. Hawke.

Things hadn't gone the way he wanted them to earlier in the square. After watching her get dressed down by his brother that morning, he hoped that would make her receptive to his offer. But she had been skittish and vanished on him before he got an answer.

"There was a templar," she said suddenly, her voice just barely carrying over the din from downstairs, where the off-duty guards were filtering in as the shift change happened back at the Keep. "He knew about Bethany and was trying to extort us. That's why I put you off earlier. I wanted to make sure he was taken care of first. Besides, when it was clear you knew about her too and you were also asking for money…"

His stomach dropped. He didn't know this girl or her family—she was just one more refugee in a city plagued with them. But he didn't like hearing this. Her sister seemed like a sweet kid and the Gallows was the kind of place he wouldn't send his worst enemy let alone someone like Bethany Hawke with her pretty face and shying nature. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "What did he want?"

"Same thing they always want."

Something about the way she said it and the hooded look of her eyes gave her away and he found himself reaching, on reflex, for Bianca.

He had always heard the stories of course. Even as someone who tried to stay out of that whole mess, he heard about the awful ways mages suffered in the Circle.

She saw this and her lips pulled up at the corner. "He's already dead."

That was only a minor comfort, because her casualness was telling; that this had happened before. "Can I help you there then?" he asked. "Do you need—?"

"The Coterie is taking care of it."

He curled his nose. "Next time you need to hide a body, go to the Carta. They're the experts."

She laughed and there was something too old and tired about the sound to come from such a young face. Drawing closer, she dropped into the stone chair opposite his at the table and pulled her long legs up into the seat, curling them into her chest.

"Fifty sovereigns?" she asked.

Varric sat back. She was favoring one side like she had been in a recent scrap and he could see the telltale black and blue of a bruise already beginning to blossom under one of her eyes. "Fifty sovereigns and you're a full partner," he replied. "You get an equal share of everything we find."

She nodded, slowly. Her eyes were focused on something far away, maybe her family or maybe she was imagining the Deep Roads and the thaig itself. Then she finally looked at him. "I want your help. I need to know you're invested in this and that you have my back."

That he wouldn't turn her in to the Order or take her money and run. It was fair enough—almost dwarven, really.

"Absolutely," he replied. "A few odd jobs here and there, we'll have it in no time."

Hawke stared at him for a moment longer before nodding again.

But she didn't make to leave or excuse herself, so he didn't reach again for his paperwork. "Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"I'm all right."

He nodded and got up to refill his glass at the sideboard. "Then maybe you could just tell me about Serah Hawke," he said, glancing back at her.

That drew some quiet, but genuine laughter out of her and she smiled as she answered: "I'm no one, really."

" _Yet_."

She grinned and unfolded herself and stood from the chair. "I'll be around in the morning for you," she said.

"Got some jobs lined up already?"

"You could say that?"

He frowned. "So, not a job?"

"More like a favor. For a… friend. You'll see."

* * *

1\. Goodness this is a bit like dejavu. No I wasn't happy with my other attempt at this story so here's a suspiciously similar substitute.

2\. Yes I probably am going to rearrange a lot of the meetings like I did with Varric's or skip them all together. Because it isn't fun reading something a lot of us already know by heart.

3\. Yes everyone is alive. Because the Hawkes get along like cats with their tails tied together and why would I miss out on that opportunity?

Now tell me how much you love me.


	2. Old Friends

**Chapter 2**

"I still can't really believe it happened."

Hawke was sitting on the steps outside of Gamlen's, cradling a pendant the palm of her hand. It was an old, unassuming thing; a black gem in a silver setting. But when she stared into it she thought she could feel something staring back…

At length, she looked up. "Hm? What was that, Aveline?"

The guardswoman looked troubled. Her arms were folded and she was pacing. "I said that I still… it's hard to believe it all really happened. That we didn't just dream it. The Blight, I mean. The witch. I was content thinking that nobody like that really existed, you know. That she was just a legend."

It was more than that, Hawke guessed. Aveline had been married to a Templar and while she wasn't especially devout, magic made her uneasy.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but it's a good thing she was around," Hawke answered.

Aveline let out a heavy breath and nodded. "I know. It's just—this doesn't sit right with me."

"She helped us. We're just keeping our end of the bargain."

"Hawke, you know the stories as well as I do—better probably," Aveline scolded. "Should we really be doing anything to _help_ her?"

Shrugging, Hawke presented the pendant in her opened palm. "Fine. Go throw it off the docks."

The redhead scowled stormily in answer.

"Didn't think so." Hawke slipped the piece, chain and all, into a pouch at her belt. "Look, we take it to the Dalish, they take care of it, and whatever happens after that? It's not our problem."

"No. I can't do that, Hawke. You know me better than that."

Marian laughed. Over Aveline's shoulder she could see Varric approaching from the Hanged Man. "Then what do you want? We can't have this both ways—honorably repay our debt _and_ not… do that. Sadly, I don't think we'll find a way to get the job half done." She stood and stretched. "It'll be fine, Aveline. Whatever happens, we'll see it through." She leaned back toward the door of the house. "Carver! Beth! Let's get moving!"

* * *

"In the interest of our future together, I'd like to make it clear now that _this_? _This_ isn't my thing."

Hawke laughed and glanced at Varric. Wherever the Dalish were, they were well off the road and they found themselves traipsing through the ancient, overgrown foot paths that wound around and through the rocky vegetation and sparse woods at the base of Sundermount. At one point in the far-flung past, this had been a place thoroughly travelled. Now there was a deathly chill in the air that even her leathers couldn't shield her from and a strange silence blanketed everything.

"Are you not a morning person, Varric?" she ventured.

"Hawke, this isn't morning. This is the Maker's ass crack of dawn," he grumbled. "But yes definitely that but this too—" A hand indicated everything around them. "The green and the rocks and the nature. Short legs and vertical planes don't go together. Can we go back to Kirkwall now?"

Her eyes moved between the path and the tree line, watching for movement and trip wires both. "No," she said, finally.

"I hate you."

"Hey, when _you_ have to do a favor for an ancient witch as part of the deal you made to get your family to safety, you can expect to hear a lot of whining from me."

The necklace seemed to be burning her through her pocket, but that was surely just a trick of her mind.

Varric heaved a sigh and shifted Bianca's weight against his shoulder. "Fine," he said, "but is this for _real_? You're telling me that _Flemeth_ saved your lives? I'm not Ferelden but I've heard the stories."

Hawke shrugged. "I'm saying that a dragon decimated two hundred darkspawn that were just about to overwhelm us and then it turned into an old woman who called herself Flemeth. Whether it was _the_ Flemeth or not I guess I really can't say."

"When father taught me about the schools of magic he always said that shape-shifting was old magic—old and lost," Bethany added from behind them. She walked beside Aveline as Carver brought up the rear behind them. "I'm sure the Circles wouldn't teach it anyhow. It'd be too difficult for the Templars to keep track of apprentices if they could all turn themselves into mice."

"Or dragons," Carver muttered. Then he raised his voice to address Varric and his sister at the front, his tone agitated: "Shouldn't you be watching the path? Don't the Dalish trap the woods around their camps? And kill intruders?"

"And here I thought that Varric and I were just walking ahead of everyone because we have the nicest asses," Hawke called back. "Let the scouts scout, little brother."

"How do you even know they're here? We could be wasting our time," he replied.

"Or, you know, I could have heard some reliable rumors from literally everyone in Darktown with lips." She looked at Varric and shrugged. "I guess a lot of elves are thinking about going back to nature."

"What would be the _cons_ , exactly?" Varric wondered. "I've personally never been to Darktown and thought I really envied the people squatting there."

"Well, as far as I can tell, no one really knows _why_ the Dalish are here. The general understanding of the Dalish seems to be that they prefer thick forests to hide in and there are a lot of places in the Free Marches better suited for that than here," Marian answered. "And I guess the mountain is cursed or haunted or something. It's a lot of Kirkwall superstition."

The dwarf beside her huffed with amusement, though there was concern etching itself across his features too. "Love me a cursed mountain," he muttered.

She shrugged. "It's probably just an area where father would say the Veil is thin."

"Let's hope it's just thin and not _torn_ ," Bethany put in.

"What's a few demons? I hear they can teach you all kinds of neat parlor tricks, Beth."

Her sister's bubbly laugh answered. "I'll pass. But thank you, sister."

* * *

On one hand, it was a pain in the ass to find the Dalish. On the other hand, the Dalish made it very clear that they had indeed been found with an impressive show of arms.

So, first impressions weren't going very well.

But mentioning the Keeper's name had been a bit like opening a door and the woman herself had been considerably kinder. She had even shooed away the hunters and chastised them for their poor manners, which was gratifying in its own right.

Then there was Merrill. Who knew blood mages could be so adorable? Hawke wanted thirty. But only if they all had such huge, puppy dog eyes and pretty tattoos, which she wouldn't make any real bets on.

But _then_ —

" _Ah_ and here we _are_."

Hawke remembered the woman that stepped down off the altar in her elaborate robe and armor. Their last day in Lothering, running for their lives through the burning ruins of what was once their home, were details that remained vivid and fresh in her mind even a year later and so too was the witch etched in her memory.

Flemeth.

 _The_ Flemeth.

Lothering was on the cusp of the Wilds and the Chasind were a frequent fixture in and around the small hamlet. Which meant children in the village had grown up on legends about the Witch of the Wilds, who devoured men and would steal children away in the night.

 _"Tell me, clever child: how do you intend to outrun the Blight?"_

"I expected my amulet to end up in a merchant's pocket."

"No one would buy it. Maybe because there was a witch inside?"

The woman laughed, a luxurious, purring chuckle that bubbled up from the back of her throat. "Just a piece; a bit of insurance should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan it already has…"

Hawke couldn't explain her stupid, bald bravado when confronting the witch the first time. Maybe, in a way, she was already dead. She'd been dead since she had pulled Carver and herself out of the mud at Ostagar and she was living on borrowed time. So, yes, she had put herself between the witch and her family with her daggers drawn and she had been as sarcastic then with the witch as she would with anyone else that hadn't just breathed fire over an small arm of the Archdemon's horde.

 _"Oh, you I like!"_

And those words still, in a their own little way, haunted her.

"We stand on the precipice of change, girl. And the world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss." Flemeth was looking out over the cliff side, over the Dalish below and Kirkwall in the distance. Then she turned to face Hawke and a fierce, predatory smile pulled at her lips when their eyes met. "Watch for that moment and when it comes do not hesitate to leap! It is only when you fall that that you learn whether you can fly."

"That's cheap advice from a dragon."

The smile widened and Hawke would swear to anyone that asked that the woman had fangs. "We all have our challenges."

"Are we going to regret bringing her here?" Carver whispered.

"You don't already?" Bethany wondered.

"Regret is something I know well," Flemeth said, her golden eyes turned on the twins, who froze beneath her stare. She looked carefully from one to the other. "Take care that you do not cling to it; to hold it so closely that it poisons your souls. When the time comes for your regrets, remember me."

Hawke moved instinctively to block the witch's view of them and the woman smiled at her again before her stare turned on Merrill. "As for you, child. Step carefully. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut."

The Dalish bowed, her nose nearly touching her shins. "Ma serannas, Asha'bellanar."

Flemeth seemed pleased and then looked back to Hawke. She drew near in a few, graceful strides. "Now the time has come for me to leave," she said and she held out a hand. In her armored palm, amidst the clawed fingertips, was a heavy coin pouch. Her black lips pulled again into a secretive smile as she placed it gently in Hawke's hand. "You have my thanks. And my sympathy."

With that the witch turned way and the others stepped back as magic began to gather and pull around her. There was heat and blinding light and then a dragon took wing from the cliff side.

Hawke didn't look at Aveline, but she felt the woman's presence beside her. They had been inseparable for the last year, working off their debt together and trying to stay alive in the Undercity. They had even shared a bed at Gamlen's before Aveline got a job with the city guard and could claim a bunk for herself and few things forced bonding quite like making cramped living space work.

"You're worrying," the rogue said.

There was the rattle of plates as Aveline shifted her weight from one hip to another. "I have to worry." She eyed Marian sideways. " _One_ of us has to worry."

Hawke shrugged. "We paid a debt. We've paid lots of those. What happens now is out of our hands."

Aveline caught Hawke's eye with a quick glance. " _You_ don't even quite believe that or you wouldn't have to keep saying it."

Marian sucked in a breath and sheathed her daggers. "Can you see the future, Aveline?"

"Of course not."

"Then it is what it is." Hawke bumped her hip into her friend's and then turned away from the altar. "Come on, we have to speak to Marethari again."

* * *

 _"The Veil was so thin on that mountain and what Merrill did… I just… I need to pray for a bit."_

Carver and Aveline saw Merrill to the Alienage and Varric offered to walk Hawke and her sister to the Chantry at the younger girl's request.

Though, when they arrived, the dwarf immediately declined to go inside. There was a no weapons policy on the grounds and he wasn't about hand Bianca over to anyone. "Besides," he said. "Holy ground makes my nose itch."

Chantries with their stained glass, smelling like candlewax and incense, and filled to their righteous bosoms with Templars had never, not in all her life, felt right to Hawke. More to the point, _she_ had never felt right in a Chantry. Not in the humble chapel back at Lothering and not here in this great edifice presided over by the Grand Cleric.

After all, she was the daughter of an apostate. How could she ever belong among a church that denied mages the basic right of family? How could she worship alongside people that didn't want her or her brother and sister to even exist?

"No weapons in the Chantry."

Hawke paused to eye the Templar who spoke. The lad was posted just inside the church's doors, tall and too lean by half for the armor he was fitted in. He was wearing a helmet and the bucket limited his peripheral vision, so he didn't see or pay mind to Bethany as she ducked her head and edged her way around him.

Marian felt a bit persecuted, honestly. She had quite purposefully concealed her knives and unless the boy could see through her clothes how in the hells would he know? Unless he simply assumed the worst of anyone that looked Ferelden? And what constituted _looking_ Ferelden honestly?

Poorness, probably. Dusty clothes, worn shoes, that lingering waft of dog.

Marian raised her hands, exposing her empty, calloused palms and fingertips. "You caught me. My plan to commit unarmed murder on holy ground in broad daylight in front of a dozen witnesses has been foiled. Well done."

"Serah, present your weaponry. Please."

He sounded so _young_. She couldn't get over it. It was like Carver was trying to give orders in his _manly_ voice. She couldn't help but laugh a little. "How _old_ are you?"

The Templar coughed. " _That_ is not—"

" _Hawke_."

The chastisement the Grand Cleric could fit into one's name was probably a skill learned over many years of honing guilt as a weapon. Even so, Elthina's lips were pulled into just the tiniest ghost of a smile as she approached with her short, patient strides. Everyone in the hall, from the petitioners to the sisters, parted to accommodate her approach, bowing deeply in respect as she passed.

Marian had the good grace to look a bit sheepish as she ducked a quick bow to the woman. "Grand Cleric," she greeted. "You look well."

Elthina nodded her head to acknowledge the low bowing Templar who then backed away out of respect. She looked then to the young woman before her. "Are you tormenting our poor Ser Kerran?"

"I prefer to think of it as pestering."

The Grand Cleric shook her head and motioned for the young woman to follow her as she turned away.

Hawke did without question and the two of them walked together into the heart of the Chantry.

"It is a beautiful day the Maker has given us," Elthina began. "I have been attending to the Chantry's gardens, though the sisters persist in telling me that it is not done; that a woman of my position should not attend such menial chores. I fear we have lost our way when any of us in the Chantry are considered too good for honest work." She shook her head and then looked to Hawke. "I trust you have been keeping yourself occupied. Leandra tells me that you are always busy; running all over the city on some errand or another."

"Well, you don't make money sitting still."

The woman raised her brows. "And this is your sole pursuit? Coin?"

Hawke grinned "Well, I tried to earn bread with my smile alone, but it didn't work out."

It was a strange thing, their acquaintance, but maybe not completely unexpected. The Grand Cleric had welcomed their mother back to the church personally and as it was Hawke that escorted Leandra to and from services they had been immediately introduced. And for some reason, no matter what dark corner of the Chantry Hawke tucked herself into while waiting for her mother during service, the old woman always found her.

Elthina's lips curled a little as she clasped her hands behind her back. "Ah, you joke," she said. "But you serve your family with admirable dedication—dedication that comes at the expense of your own desires. There are those who could learn from your example, Hawke."

"I wouldn't recommend it. Unless a constant headache and crushing anxiety are their thing."

The Grand Cleric stifled what was most definitely a laugh behind her hand then and shook her head. When she had regained her composure, she looked back to Hawke. "So, have you come for confession?"

"How does that work? If I went to confession and apologized for being a mercenary, am I covered until I take my next job? Just in case I died in between, you know."

"Marian Hawke!"

Being chastised by the Grand Cleric might have held more weight if the woman wasn't always fighting to contain her amusement.

So Marian went on. "Besides, if I went to confession, what then would the Maker and I have to talk about when I died?"

Elthina was smiling so widely that her gray eyes were sparkling. "You and your clever tongue would think of something, child!" she said, her tone still one of a scolding parent. Then it softened. "We are holding services in an hour. Will you stay?"

They had stopped to stand together just beneath a marble arch within the main sancutary. Further in, Hawke could see Bethany at one of the pews, her head bowed. Looming over them all was a great statue of Andraste and the smaller likenesses of several Anointed, which she found intimidating as all the hells. She looked back at Elthina. "Tell you what, if you come to the Hanged Man for a drink someday, I'll stay for a service. A bit of tit for tat?"

At this, the Grand Cleric couldn't seem to help but give in and laugh aloud. It drew looks from others in the church. She reached out and grasped Hawke's arm. "You are a very charming heretic. Your father was impossible too, I remember," the woman said with great warmth. "But thank you. I am given few chances to laugh anymore."

"I'll have you know that offer was sincere."

"As was mine," Elthina said, placing a gentle hand upon Hawke's shoulder and patting it with great tenderness.

The rogue smiled back. "Thank you, Grand Cleric."

The woman nodded genially and Hawke bowed again. She lifted her head and watched Elthina as she walked away, further into the Chantry. Then she turned and began the long ascent up the steps to the balcony above.

Thankfully, Hawke wasn't forced to linger very long afterward. It didn't seem like she had so much as settled into her usual bored trance against one of the walls when she felt Bethany's hand tuck into her elbow.

"What did you and the Grand Cleric talk about?" the mage asked on their way to the doors.

"Gardening and eternal damnation. The usual."

Bethany wrinkled her nose in consternation at her sister's refusal to answer properly, but did not pry any further in that direction. Instead, she went a different way. "You're the only one I ever see her talking to, you know. That isn't from the church, I mean."

Marian laughed. "That's no surprise, is it? Our father destroyed his phylactery and escaped the Circle here. Face it, Beth, the Amells might have been known for their wine cellars, but the Hawke name is pretty famous here too."

"Do you think that means we're being watched?"

They stepped outside, leaving the heaviness of the Chantry behind them for the salty, bracing freshness of Kirkwall's unbearable midday swelter. "I doubt it," Marian said, waving to Varric, who was leaning against the far wall and idly inspecting Bianca for trace imperfections. "The Chantry has a long memory, but Kirkwall has an even longer list of problems. Right now, we're just refugees."

"I hope you're right."


End file.
